Ninety-Three:

NINETY-THREE:

The Last Passenger

Ten minutes past eleven.

“No charge today,” the driver told Michael. “Everyone’s riding free.” She avoided his stare, knuckles tight on the wheel.

“Thank you,” he replied before continuing up the aisle. Loose change jingled in the pocket of his jeans from squirreling it away. He became very aware of how little oxygen was inside the bus. Everything struck him as thick. The metal handlebars he grabbed to keep his balance were almost too hot to touch. No air-conditioning, just a caged fan above the driver—no use to anyone, really.

As Michael was about to drop into a seat in the first half of the bus, he made eye contact with two young women further up the aisle on the opposite side. The older one smiled at him.

“Our lucky day, see?” she said.

“Sure is,” he replied, caught off guard by her American accent.

***

Diana’s smile faded. Next to her, sixteen-year-old Julia shied away and watched her reflection in the window.

***

Sarah Carr toyed with the spikes of her hair, and understood two things straight away. The women were goodly. And they’re sisters. Though I don’t see the resemblance.

***

Six seats ahead of her, Peter Ditton sat upright, notebook across his kneecaps.

***

Steve Brown fanned himself, heat building within the heavy fabric of his football jersey. He sat behind the skinny kid who had been at the bus stop with him.

Steve had been that young and fit once. He wiped his hands on his shorts—his old hands. The years left him soft and pudgy, not that he cared; a lot of that bullshit lost its glean once you married, a time in your life when impressing others dropped on your priority scale. Bev, on the other hand, kept her figure and that was great for her. Steve was proud of his little gym-bunny, but still, the awkwardness between them increased. She was beautiful and he wasn’t the movie-star type, as she would put it. When they made love these days, he tended to tire quicker and sometimes didn’t orgasm at all. Steve even faked it once.

I’m sure she saw straight through that as well. Bev always does.

All around him, Steve’s fellow passengers sat in silence. No music issued from the old speakers that day. He stared ahead and saw the driver slump in her seat, a deflating gesture. A crackle from the two-way radio corrected her posturing.

Don’t you go nodding off on us, love.

***

Sarah placed her hands on the handlebar and felt the tarmac rumbling through it. She studied the driver and could have sworn the woman almost fell asleep. The first lick of panic flirted with her skin. Hairs stood in attention.

“Hey!” yelled the young, porcelain-looking girl across the aisle, the one with the older sister. Sarah, like all the passengers, reeled at this outburst.

She clutched her chest.

***

All eyes landed on Julie. She chose to ignore those intimidating looks and pushed up off the seat. A wintry sickness ran through her, cold and deep.

“What are you yelling about?” Diana said.

“Driver, stop!”